


Forked Hazel Twig

by voleuse



Category: Alias, CSI: Las Vegas, Smallville, Stargate Atlantis, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-03
Updated: 2005-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Ferret out the man-in-the-street, his multicolour hurt</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forked Hazel Twig

**Author's Note:**

> _Smallville_ futurefic, set after _CSI_ 5.24, and a screwy timeline for all else. Title, summary, and headings adapted from Elizabeth Garrett's _Envoi_.

_i. go, little huddle of noise_

Chloe's gig at the _Inquisitor_ isn't so bad. She's got medical and dental, flexible hours, and a direct line to the boss.

She doesn't publicize that last fact during staff meetings. Lex is, after all, hands-off when it comes to running the paper. Mostly.

Sure, she would have liked to work at the _Planet_, but the _Inquisitor_'s reputation has improved over the past few years.

And if there's still a lingering whiff of tabloid? Well, that just means she occasionally gets Wall-of-Weird-worthy assignments, and if she happens to pick up a hot tip about one, she doesn't get shot down immediately.

Not a bad gig at all.

_ii. furled like a crumpled rainbow_

She gets a cryptic e-mail on Tuesday afternoon, something about an alien visiting a bar in Colorado. She calls Clark to make sure it's not him, then she books her flight.

When she gets to the bar, however, all she sees is an empty room, aside from one table in the back. Seated there are two men and a woman. One of the men wears Air Force dress uniform and a smirk, and the other gesticulates wildly with his glass of water. The woman watches them with a smile on her face, and Chloe watches them all.

After a moment, however, the woman turns her head, meets Chloe's gaze.

Chloe blushes, looks away.

"Would you like to join us?" the woman calls out, and the men fall silent at Chloe nods.

When she pulls up a chair, the woman bows her head in an almost archaic gesture.

"I'm Chloe, by the way." She sticks out her hand.

The woman clasps it gently. "Teyla. And these are my friends, Rodney."

The gesticulator sets down his water, purses his lips.

"And John," Teyla finishes, and John offers his hand to Chloe.

They sit awkwardly for a second, then Teyla steps in again.

"You seemed to be searching for someone," she says. "Is there, perhaps, something we can do to help you?"

Chloe shrugs, hedges her bets. "Heard there was an alien lurking around here." She waits for one of them to speed away, but they just sit there.

"Well." John smiles widely. "That's an interesting story."

"It is." Chloe leans her elbows on the tabletop. "Is it true?"

_iii. what I meant when I said: I do._

Her follow-up leads her all the way to DC, and the Pentagon shuts her out handily.

She mentally files them under _Pending investigation_, and decides to alleviate her mood with some tourism.

She's walking in the shadow of the Washington Monument when she spots the woman standing by the Reflecting Pool.

She's not sure why the woman caught her eye. She's blonde and pretty and sad, but then again, most days Chloe is, too.

The woman watches her approach, doesn't even twitch.

"Hey," Chloe says, then stops. "You okay?"

The woman raises an eyebrow.

Chloe shakes her head, feels idiotic. "You just looked kind of down."

The woman looks away. "I suppose I am." She has an accent, but Chloe can't pin it on one specific location.

"Can I ask why?"

"I'm officially dead, for one."

"Oh." Chloe turns this over in her mind. "I've been there before. It sucks."

The woman looks at her sharply, but nods. "It does."

_iv. look blank or pretend deaf_

Chloe finishes writing about the latest in Hilton hijinks sometime close to midnight, and she decides to reward herself with a drink.

The assignment's brought her, inexplicably, to upstate New York, and it takes her half an hour of driving before she finds a bar that is both open and not disturbingly neon.

She grabs a beer from the bar, snags a booth near the front. Almost immediately, a guy slides onto the bench across from her.

"Evening," he says, and he's cute enough that she almost returns his smile.

Instead, she sips at her beer, grimaces at the lukewarm temperature. "I wasn't looking for company."

He claps a hand to his heart. "Ow. I don't even get a shot?"

She rolls her eyes, but sets her beer down and gestures with benevolence. "Proceed."

He bites his lip. Scratches his head. Rests his chin in his hand.

She is trying desperately not to laugh.

Finally, he leans forward, his palms flat on the table.

"Are your legs tired? Because you've been running through my mind all night."

She can't help herself. She giggles, covers it with another sip of her beer.

It's cold, but she's distracted enough to miss the difference.

_v. the flesh's contrary motion_

Her next flight is to Vegas, for an interview she's been angling for since she first heard about the abduction.

This is the first interview the victim granted since he was rescued, and she thinks Lex might have called in a couple of favors.

She begins a mental rough draft as soon as she catches her first glimpse of the subject.

_From Stokes' easy grin, you might think he's just been to a barbeque back home in Texas. You'd never guess that, just a few months ago, he was kidnapped, buried alive, and tortured, for the sake of ransom and revenge._

He's uncomfortable at first, cracking jokes, flattering her sweetly. She lets him ramble, because eventually he'll run out of froth. That's when she'll get her story.

It takes almost an hour, but eventually his voice begins to crack, and his eyes turn bright.

At the end of the interview, she squeezes his hand. Smiles, and thanks him for his time.

When the story is published, _Inquisitor_ sales jump fifteen percent.

_vi. this is a two-part invention_

She doesn't have an office, really, but her corner cubicle is relatively swank. She has a view out a window, room to stretch, and a Rolodex the size of a basketball.

Lex calls to congratulate her, only a few minutes before Clark does. (She's very careful not to mention one to the other.) Lois calls her as well, though her congratulations were more along the lines of _Good story. I hate you._

The next edition has gone to print, and she's on the front page, above the fold.

She leans back in her chair and watches the sunlight fade.


End file.
